


On Disguises

by Magpied_Spider



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - His Dark Materials, Fluff, Gen, Hair Dyeing, Stood On The Brink Of Hell, maybe season two, no given timeline, somewhere around season one, the winchesters are on the run from the law quite a bit come to think of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:12:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1793362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magpied_Spider/pseuds/Magpied_Spider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate title: Why, if the police have photograms of wanted criminals flashing around the news, they should take into account that said criminals will probably find some way of disguising their dæmons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Disguises

“Sandi, get over here!” Dean was chasing his wolf-dæmon around the hotel, Sam looking on amusedly from the table and chairs.

“Dude, you may want to rethink your strategy.”

“Oh, har har, Sammy,” replied Dean, having cornered Otsandi between one of the beds and the wall, “don’t pretend that you’ve done anything to try and disguise Tio.”

The younger brother shrugged, as Otsandi leapt onto the bed, out of reach of Dean.

“He’s a moose, it’s not exactly like I can give his antlers a trim and say, hey, look, he’s actually a caribou! We’re a bit conspicuous. Which is why, for your interest, I actually _did_ invest in a disguise of sorts for him.”

Sam held up an (empty) insect-dæmon-case, which was tinted in such a way that the occupant of it would be unseen. He reached into his pocket, and withdrew a toy butterfly, about the size of the real thing. “It’s not like anyone is going to go up to me and say, 'I think that you have a plastic butterfly in there instead of a dæmon, and I’m going to open it up and check'.” He opened the case and put the toy in, closing it again.

“I have to say, I’m not impressed by the flutterby,” said the moose in question from the other side of the room. “What’s his name gonna be, anyway?”

Sam shrugged at his dæmon. “ _Her_ name can be… uh… Placdieka. Decka.”

“That sounds like a made-up name.”

“Says T-i-o-r-d-y pronounced tier-dee.”

“AH-HA!” Sam’s head snapped around to the sight of Dean lying, on the ground, on top of his dæmon. “Gotcha!”

The wolf fixed an unimpressed gaze on him. “I could get out of this pretty easily, you know.”

Dean ignored her. “Sam, get the hair dye. If anyone asks, you are going to be a black husky Labrador cross until our names and photos stop being flashed every night on the news.”

Sam turned the television on as he walked by, which was, conveniently, just flashing up a photo of Dean and Otsandi, with a size comparison for the wolf.

“These men are armed and extremely dangerous. One policeman’s dæmon is undergoing treatment for bite wounds, and two officers are in hospital –“

“It’s not as if they weren’t going for us,” Interjected Tiordy, “it’s not like I _touched_ them.” The moose-dæmon tossed his head. “It wasn’t even that hard a kick.”

Sam returned from the bathroom with scissors and black hair dye, muting the television as he walked back. “Do you know how the dye works, Dean?”

“Not… really, but it can’t be that hard, right?”

Ten minutes, a mess of fur, and one ruined shirt later, most of Otsandi’s distinctive tan patches were black, as were most of the grey. Her legs were still mostly grey-white, but there was still another bottle of the dye left.

“This is humiliating. Dean, I’m literally the best representation of you. And you’re forcing change on me in a manner that is degrading and –“

“Fluffy, shut up.” Sam continued the application of the dye on his side, which was looking much more even than Dean’s end.

“Tall person, you don’t get to look in on this conversation, given that bighead over there isn’t being forced to go through some sort of –“

“Rudolph is being replaced by a plastic butterfly, so I think we’ve got the better deal, fur-for-brains,” interjected Dean. “Shit, Sam, you’re wearing gloves. Are we meant to be wearing gloves?”

“Dean, if you’d read the packet, you’d see that you need gloves to make sure that it doesn’t stick to your skin. You’d better go and start scrubbing unless you want to wear mittens for a month. I’ll…” here Sam took a look at Dean’s side of the fur and grimaced, “I’ll redo your end once I’m finished with mine.”

Dean put down the bowl of dye and made his way over to the motel bathroom.

“So, on the run from the law again," observed Sam.

“Yup. Hey, maybe I should get Dean to grow a beard. _You_ could grow a beard.”

“If there’s dye left, maybe I’ll dye _my_ hair black as well.” He dabbed another lot onto a section of fur. “How much of this coat do you have? I mean, we cut off about half of it, and it’s still probably more hair than I realised could exist in one place.”

“There’s enough of it that I’ve never been cold in my life.”

“Ok, you’re gonna need to keep your eyes shut for a bit while I apply this section.”

Dean returned from the bathroom with grey-ish hands to find his dæmon almost completely black. “That is quite possibly the weirdest thing I have ever seen.”

“You need to grow a beard. If I’m being humiliated, you should too. Solidarity with your dæmon’s self, cosmic harmony, balance, all that shit.”

Dean looked at Otsandi and held in a laugh. “Nah, I’m good.”

The fur done, Sam grabbed his phone, putting on a timer for twenty minutes. “Dean, go run a bath. I’ll be back with some dinner, but when the timer goes off you’ll need to wash off the excess dye. You do own shampoo, right?”

Sam entered the burger joint hoping that the employees hadn’t been watching the news for the serial killer brothers that had escaped custody. His dæmon-case with the plastic butterfly contained within it felt out of place, but after a moment’s consideration he decided to bite the bullet, and walked up to the counter, ordering a bacon cheeseburger, with fries, plus one large and one small salad to go.

The harried-looking cashier didn’t give him a second glance, and neither did her cat-dæmon, who was typing in orders from one machine to the other. Sam paid and went to stand to the side, waiting for food. Another employee gave the food to him about three minutes later, essentially shoving it into his hands and turning around to attend to the other customers. Satisfied that the dæmon-case worked well enough as a disguise, Sam began the walk back to the motel.

Inside the motel, Otsandi was looking at herself in the mirror as her human typed away. She tilted her head. “I’m really confused.”

Dean shrugged. “You don’t look like yourself, which is sort of the point. Ok, try curling your tail, flopping your ears, and acting like a clumsy dog.”

Otsandi sprang at him, still dripping, and knocked Dean from the table to the ground. “I’ll do that when we have to go outside.”

Sam opened the door. “Well, the people at the shop were fooled by butterfly-in-a-case, so I’d say that’s a resoundi- woah. Woah. Sandi?”

“Nup,” said the wolf in question, wagging her tail, “my name is _actually_ Ozymarius. Marie to the people I know.” She stood up, tail curled across her back, mouth open in an imitation of the look that dogs tend to get, took a few steps and prance-walked up to Sam, banged into the bed as she turned back to Dean. “How’s that for a clumsy dog?”

“Pretty good.” Sam frowned. “I feel like I’ve heard that name before, though. Hey, Where’d Tio go?”

Dean went over to the open laptop, turning it to show Sam the page.

“Indiana. There’s something cooking up that looks like a haunting. We’re not far, so he said he’d meet us there.”

“Right.” _Tio, warn a guy. I wouldn’t have gotten the extra salad if you’d mentioned you were clearing off._

_I’m sure you’ll manage. Maybe you can trick Dean into eating some of it._

Sam sat next to Dean at the table, handing him the burger and fries, turning on the TV.

“… up next, the strange weather we’ve been getting. Global warming, or something more sinister? Plus, expert psychologists to tell us about what our dæmons can tell us about a person aside from their obvious personality. I’m Christine Hausagger, and we’ll be back right after this.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ozymandias (not Ozymarius) is the name of Mrs Coulter's dæmon in the HDM series, which, undoubtedly our protagonists would have learned in history class.


End file.
